


Pleasure or Pain

by Chippa



Category: Callan (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chippa/pseuds/Chippa
Summary: Cross screws up and Meres punishes him for it.
Relationships: Toby Meres/James Cross
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Pleasure or Pain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firestorm717](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestorm717/gifts).



> I've tagged Mildly dubious consent just to be safe. Cross doesn't say No but then Toby doesn't exactly ask him. James is just conflicted poor chap :)
> 
> And I blame Firestorm717 for this. It's all her fault for throwing plot bunnies at me and then feeding them carrots :p
> 
> Also apparently Prostakov means simpleton in Russian according to google which made me smile.

Cross was sweating. Prostakov had given him the slip and was nowhere to be seen. It had seemed like a simple enough job when Meres had given him the assignment that morning.

He had been more than a little surprised to find Toby Meres sitting in Hunter’s seat. Questioning where Callan was and why he wasn’t handing out the jobs as usual Meres had merely smirked at him in that annoying way of his.

“My, my, you _are_ out of the loop James dear boy. Callan has been home in bed with a stomach bug for the last 3 days. Terribly ill I hear, apparently he’s spending as much time on the lavatory as he is in bed. Won’t be back for the foreseeable future”.

“What about Bishop”? he had asked. “Surely he would take over at a time like this”.

“Afraid not, he’s at some conference in Aberdeen. He won’t be back until the end of the week”.

Meres had smiled then. “I’m in charge now and you’ll do as I say”. He looked up at Cross coolly.

“I’ve given you this assignment because it’s so simple even you can’t mess it up”. Cross glared at him in annoyance.

“Follow Prostakov, that’s all you have to do. Follow him; watch what he does; where he goes and who, if anyone, he talks to. Do you think you can manage that”?. Meres handed the file over then, before adding, “don’t let him see you and _don’t_ lose him”.

“I can manage a simple tail job thank you very much Toby”. James sighed in irritation. Toby Meres being a condescending arsehole was too much to deal with at nine am on a Tuesday morning.

“I hope so”, Meres said coldly. “Because if you mess this up and make me look bad you’ll regret it, I can assure you”. Leaning back in his chair, Meres said, “one more thing James”; he paused for effect, “while I’m sitting in this chair I expect you to call me sir”.

Cross had opened his mouth to say something to that but Meres had merely looked at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting it seemed for James’ obedience to his orders.

Turning to leave Cross had muttered, “yes sir, straight away sir, I’ll get right on it, _sir_ ”. The last thing he had heard as the door closed was Toby laughing. Bloody Meres.

That had been nearly five hours ago and Meres was right, it was an easy job, though not an enjoyable one; he felt like he had walked from one side of London to the other following his quarry.

Prostakov hadn’t done much, picked up the morning paper; a bit of shopping and then lunch in a nearby pub. Cross had enjoyed that part of it, it had given him the chance to sit down with a pint and rest his aching feet.

Soon enough though Prostakov had finished his meal and was off again, more shopping it seemed and Cross had almost started to wonder if Meres had given him this job as a wind up, but surely even Toby wouldn’t waste section resources on a sick joke like that. Honestly, the only thing that Cross had learned was that Prostakov had lousy taste in clothes and that he took size eleven shoes; what a waste of time.

That was why Prostakov had managed to give him the slip, James thought to himself, because he was thinking too much about Meres and how he had much better taste in suits and he hadn’t noticed that Prostakov had left the toilets of the latest department store he had entered, much less leave the store itself.

When he had finally realised that the cubicle was empty he had rushed out trying to pick him up, only to see him getting onto a bus in the distance. Cross had run for it of course but he never made it; he hadn’t even managed to see what number it had been. Meres was _not_ going to be happy. He was already in Callan’s bad books for accusing him of harbouring Lonely and helping him avoid his, deserved in Cross’ opinion, red file. He really didn’t need Meres making life difficult for him as well.

He stopped at a cafe before heading back to headquarters. He needed to sort out what excuse he was going to tell Meres. He’d rather be in the pub with a stiff drink he mused but he daren’t turn up smelling of alcohol so a strong cuppa would have to do.

Whatever he told Meres it would have to be good, after all he could hardly tell him the truth: “Sorry Toby old chap but I was stood in the toilets in Debenhams with my cock in my hand thinking about how much better you’d look in that natty striped tie that Prostakov had just spent the last half an hour looking at. While I was daydreaming about how it would look much better on you than on him, he gave me the slip”.

While James didn’t particularly _like_ Meres in any way, he could concede that he was an attractive man and he had wondered, once or twice, mainly when he was tired and couldn’t be bothered to pull a hot bird, just what it would be like to be fucked by him. Hard, fast and satisfying had been his guess. Obviously he had no intention of finding out and on days like that he made do with his hand, but it was a pleasant enough fantasy; as long as it stayed that way.

Maybe he should just bash himself over the head with his gun and pretend that Prostakov had jumped him. Standing up he headed for the door and the tube station. No use putting it off any longer, he thought to himself, he’ll find out sooner or later.

Cross is walking down the road, deep in thought. He is completely unaware of the blonde woman following him, thinks Meres, who is in turn, following her. Irina Baranova is the real reason they had been traipsing across London.

By getting Cross to follow Prostakov he had hoped to make it obvious that he was an agent. This in turn would lure out Baranova, who would be wondering why they were following around a nonentity like Prostakov. Meres had hoped that she would assume that he must have some information she didn’t know about and she would eagerly follow them to discover what it was. So far it had been working. It was moderately dangerous for Cross he supposed, but Meres was willing to take that chance to be able to take out the Russian assassin.

Ahead of him he could see James cross the road with Baranova only a foot behind him. As he was about to follow them a motorcycle courier went screaming past nearly hitting him. Cursing the idiot he turned back just to see Baranova bundling Cross into a white mini cooper and driving away. Meres dived into the nearest taxi that was waiting outside the station, earning annoyed looks from several commuters. “Follow that white car”, he told the driver, feeling like a complete idiot. The bitch wouldn’t get away from him that easily.

By the time Meres had paid the taxi driver and convinced him that he didn’t need to wait, Baranova and Cross had already been inside the dilapidated warehouse for several minutes. He drew his weapon and carefully crept forward, peering around the door frame, what he saw made him stop dead in surprise.

Cross was tied to a chair in the middle of the large, otherwise empty area. A few pallets and large packing crates were dotted around here or there; handy to hide behind Meres thought but the thin wood wouldn’t help much if it came to a firefight. What had surprised him was that Irina Baranova had stripped James naked and was just moving to straddle his lap. She was an attractive woman, he supposed; Cross certainly seemed to think so. She was a little too, _forward_ , for his liking he thought with distaste. Much better if she were the one tied up and helpless, although a bound Cross; helpless and at his mercy, also held appeal he decided with a rush of arousal.

“Tell me what I want to know and I can make it very good for you”, Irina was saying to Cross. “Why were you following Prostakov”?

“Who’s he”? replies Cross with a grin. “I have no idea who that is”. Baranova slaps him across the face before grinding herself in Cross’ lap once more.

“It’s your choice, you can feel good”, saying this she runs her hands along his muscled chest, “or you can feel bad” she continues, scratching him viciously. Watching from his hiding place behind a packing crate just behind Cross’ right shoulder, Meres winces. He does wish she wouldn’t damage James too much – that was Toby’s prerogative.

Leaning in closely towards Cross, Irina licks a wet stripe along his ear before whispering, “why do you resist? Things could be so much more pleasant for you if you’d only cooperate”.

“Move back”, Meres thinks savagely. If the silly bitch would only move he could shoot her now and finish this charade. She might be a good marksman he thinks to himself, but as an interrogator she is an amateur.

Finally she leans back and gives him a good line of sight. A millisecond later Meres’ pistol barks twice, the shots booming in the echoing room and she is dead. The first shot has hit her high in the chest; the force knocking her from Cross’ lap to lay crumpled on her back at his feet, she was dead before the second touched her but Meres is a professional and takes no chances. Already he is moving; dragging her several feet away from where James sits and checking her pockets for anything she may be carrying. Nothing useful, just the usual rubbish a woman carried thought Toby, a handbag contains a purse; lipstick and compact mirror. A Makarov is in a concealed holster at her waist – proof, if any were needed, that she is a member of the opposition.

Eventually he looks up to see Cross staring at him white faced. The young man looks shaken; no doubt he had felt the bullet whiz past his cheek on it’s way to burying itself in Irina’s chest. It’s a good look for him, Meres decides and it makes his blood run hot when he thinks how vulnerable he looks in that moment; how helpless he is tied to that chair, naked; expecting Toby to go over and free him. How surprised and scared he will be when he realises that Toby has no intention of freeing him – not yet anyway.

“What the…bloody hell Meres…thank fuck it’s you”. The words spill from Cross’ lips in a rush. “Untie me for heavens sake and lets get out of here”.

“No”.

“What the hell do you mean, no”?

“I mean, no, I won’t untie you. Is that too difficult for you to comprehend”? Meres moves as he speaks to stand by Cross’ shoulder, making sure to stand just far enough behind James that he has to twist his head painfully to the right to try to keep him in view. As he passes he glances down at James’ lap, noticing that he is still half hard, presumably the result of the now dead Irina Baranova.

Leaning down to whisper in his ear conversationally, Meres tells him, “In fact it looks to me like you’re perfectly happy with the situation”. Resting his chin on James’ shoulder he continues; “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you enjoyed being tied up. Is there something you wish to tell me James?, some deep, dark secret you wish to share perhaps”? Cross tries in vain to shrug his shoulders, but his arms are tied too tightly to the sides of the chair; the most he can manage is to clench his fists. He wishes he could dislodge Meres and that smooth, irritating voice in his ear, he can hear the smirk he knows must be plastered on Toby’s face, he can hear it in every word he says without having to turn his head and see it.

If you asked James Cross this morning if he would enjoy being tied up and humiliated he would have said emphatically no, but now with his traitorous cock refusing to settle down he is beginning to have his doubts. Was there any truth to Meres’ words, he wondered. Surely not. It was just his bodies reaction to the attractive blonde woman who had been all over him, that was all it was. But still…

James’ feelings were written clearly across his face, though he didn’t seem to be aware of it, he certainly made no effort to school his emotions. Meres smiled to himself. Part of a good interrogation he reasoned was getting the subject to do the work for you. Put the doubt in his mind; get him to question himself and it makes him vulnerable to you. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it Meres thinks, it’s just too easy.

Abruptly Meres stands up, the silken voice is no longer speaking and the warm breath no longer tickles Cross’ ear. He stays directly behind James; Cross can’t see him but he can hear him moving and he can feel his presence. Toby stays quiet for a long moment, the silence dragging on; five heartbeats; then five more, Cross wills himself not to fidget.

“You failed James… Why”? That strong, smooth voice cutting through the silent room. Cross lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding; waiting for the voice to speak. He tries to twist in the chair, wanting to see Meres, needing to explain that he hadn’t meant to fail the mission – he hadn’t meant to fail _him._

“Eyes front James”. It is an order, snapped out with all the commanding presence you’d expect from an ex captain of the Guards. “You haven’t answered my question”, the voice came again, quiet once more; smooth and menacing. Then silence.

He is waiting for an answer Cross thinks. I have to tell him something. But no answer is forthcoming; there is nothing he can say that will satisfy Toby Meres he thinks wildly.

Meres rests his hands on James’ shoulders. He runs one hand down to briefly caress James’ chest before bringing it back up to grip his throat. The grip is firm; a show of Toby’s power and a promise of what could happen if Cross doesn’t answer. Cross shudders; it’s not overtly sexual and yet he is still half hard.

“I’m sorry”, he stammers. “I didn’t mean it”.

“That’s not good enough”, Meres’ grip tightens briefly before relaxing again, though not letting go. “I won’t tolerate excuses”.

“Please Toby…” Meres squeezes again, tighter this time; longer too and Cross starts to panic. When Meres finally lets him go he is red faced and breathing heavily, gulping in air even though it can’t have been more than twenty or thirty seconds.

“I thought I told you to call me Sir”. The voice is back in his ear, low and menacing; the breath hot against his skin. The hand that was on his throat is now caressing the side of his face, the knuckles brushing gently across his cheek are a sharp contrast to the tight grip from before. Then Meres is above him again; unseen but not unfelt. The large hands once more resting on his shoulders. Waiting. Whether to deliver pain, or to soothe it away unknown for now.

Cross’ head was spinning. Not from lack of oxygen but from the whole situation. He didn’t know what to think; how to feel. He felt unbalanced. He almost felt like crying and he felt like he mustn’t fuck this up. He mustn’t fail Toby again… _Sir_ he corrected himself mentally.

“I’m sorry Sir”, it comes out quiet and shaky and it doesn’t sound like his voice thinks Cross. He tries again. “I didn’t mean to fail you, I”, he trails off, wondering how to explain. “I let myself get distracted”. He looks down, sees his naked self and is embarrassed. This shouldn’t be arousing he thinks. But he wants to get it right this time. He’s fucked everything else up today; he wants to make Sir proud of him. _Make Sir like him,_ he thinks desperately. He needs the reassurance that he is behaving correctly, like Sir wants him to. He craves for Meres to praise him, to tell him it’s all good… to tell him that _he_ is good.

Behind Cross and out of sight Toby has to repress a groan. This boy is such an open book. Meres would enjoy breaking Cross. It wouldn’t be difficult, just enough praise and the discipline to temper it and he would do anything Toby wanted. Maybe another time, he told himself sharply. Today was about punishment and humiliation. Today was about learning that Toby was to be obeyed. That Toby was the one in charge.

“Tell me James. Tell me all the nasty, sordid details. Tell Sir all the ways you failed and how you’ll never do it again”.

The slightest of pauses, Cross is still thinking, Meres realises; still fighting with himself – torn between the embarrassment and wanting to please. He needs another reminder that he isn’t the one in charge here, he just needs to surrender to Toby’s will. A little fight was good thinks Meres, removing one hand from James’ shoulder to surreptitiously adjust himself. Complete surrender was even better and he was determined to get Cross to admit his failings and beg Toby for forgiveness.

Meres finishes rearranging himself, his trousers were uncomfortably tight but that could wait. He places his hand back on Cross’ throat and starts to squeeze. “Come on James” he says. “Confess your sins”. How long would it take before he surrendered, thought Meres; how long must he apply the pressure before James broke.

Not long as it turned out. Almost as soon as he had started squeezing Cross was talking, or trying to at least. Meres stilled his hand and the babbling continued. He removed it completely, his hands loose at his sides and still Cross talked, the threat no longer necessary.

Cross was babbling but he didn’t care. He had to tell Sir what he wanted to know. Had to unburden his soul and let Meres make it right, make _him_ right and not the torn to pieces screw up he felt right now.

“I’m sorry Sir, I got distracted Sir, it won’t happen again Sir, _please believe me Sir; please”._

He tells Meres then; all the things he thought about when he was tired and lonely. How he wondered sometimes, what would it be like for Meres to notice him. He confesses his fears of failure, his worry of not being the best and he waits. He waits for Meres to make it all better.

He is still waiting when Meres leans down to pick up Cross’ clothes. Still waiting when Toby produces a knife and slices away his bonds. Not daring to look up as Toby stands above him holding both his clothes and his frayed emotions in his strong hands. Waiting for Sir to pass judgement. Meres just looks at him, silent for a long time, debating between pleasure and pain. The pain wins out in the end; it usually does.

Silently Meres throws James’ clothes in his lap, Cross looks up then to find Toby looking at him with contempt.

“Get dressed Cross, it’s a long walk back to headquarters. I’ll expect your report on my desk by tomorrow morning”.

Meres turns towards the door and walks out into the cool evening without a backward glance and Cross is left to sit there and try to put the shattered pieces of himself back together.


End file.
